


Big Victories, and Other Spoils You Provide Your Boyfriend

by Esurisne



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24666961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esurisne/pseuds/Esurisne
Summary: “I’m beginning to think I spoil you too much.”Once again, Taichi sidles closer to Omi, sliding his arms around Omi’s neck to link his fingers together behind him. Up on his tiptoes, Taichi gazes up at him plaintively. Omi looks perfectly unfazed, at least until Taichi lowers his lids and says, with the beat of his heart sending a pounding rush like a tide through his ribcage, “Actually…I was thinking tonight I’d spoilyou.”
Relationships: Fushimi Omi/Nanao Taichi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 124





	Big Victories, and Other Spoils You Provide Your Boyfriend

There’s a ritual about it on most nights.

Omi gets out of the shower and comes to their room while Taichi is there doing _whatever_ it is he’s doing. Sometimes he’s busy with something productive. Sometimes he’s browsing the internet, which is kind of productive, depending on the way you look at it. And sometimes he’s just waiting, because he knows that Omi will be coming back to their room soon enough — _no_ , Taichi’s not counting down the minutes, he’s simply gifted with uncanny attentiveness to Omi’s timely presence — and he really doesn’t want to miss a second of it.

From behind the shield of his drawn-up knees and phone screen, Taichi hears the telltale sound of the door coming open. He pauses the skateboarding compilation he’s watching, eyes darting upwards just in time to see Omi come in.

…Omi, who’s freshly showered, whose hair is still wet and mussed, and his skin is still dewy and flushed with the warmth of the water, and the damp heat of his body’s making his thin, low-collared shirt stick to his shoulders and chest, outlining his form and dragging Taichi’s gaze down, down to the little sliver of bare hip showing between his shirt and his shorts… 

So this ritual is a little — what is it, _masochistic?_ Maybe. Or it would be, if Taichi wasn’t blessed with the permission to not only look, but to touch. He’s so lucky! He is so, _so_ lucky. Really, if someone had told him when he joined Mankai that he’d be dating the whole package that _is_ Omi, Taichi would have laughed himself into hysterics.

“Hey,” Omi says, as fondly as ever. His smile is affectionate when he meets Taichi’s eyes, but his lips twitch higher after a moment when he must catch the sight of Taichi’s extremely intent expression. 

Right, right. Touching. Taichi swallows past his dry mouth, clears his throat, and takes a sip of his water before bounding off of his bed and nearly tripping his way down the ladder and to the floor. “Omi!” he says, and throws himself right at him.

“Whoa, hi —” Omi catches Taichi and brings him into a satisfyingly tight hug, the overwhelming warmth of his shower-hot skin soaking right through Taichi’s clothes and into his _bones_. He presses his face into Omi’s shoulder, tucking his grin up into the line of his jaw.

He’ll play at being hard to get sometimes, when he wants Omi to press into his space and pull him nearer, or when he’s feeling the need to hear Omi voice what _he_ wants from Taichi, because it doesn’t happen often enough and Taichi’s formed quite the addiction to Omi saying the words, _I want._ But that’s not the game tonight.

“I saw you earlier at dinner,” Omi is saying while Taichi rubs his cheek _aaaaall_ over the little beads of water that remain on the bare skin of his collarbone. “Did you miss me that much?”

Teasing, Taichi’s being teased. He feels a little more jittery at it, a little more pleased. “That’s different,” Taichi complains, already pulling away to drag Omi deeper into the room by the wrists. He releases him just to kick the door shut, then steals the towel from around Omi’s shoulders and twirls it around and around itself. Nervous, nervous energy makes him bounce on his heels, toes, heels again. “Now I get you all to myself.” 

“Oh, is that what you want?” Omi laughs, stealing the towel back and playfully brushing imaginary lint from Taichi’s arm. “I’m beginning to think I spoil you too much.”

Once again, Taichi sidles closer to Omi, sliding his arms around Omi’s neck to link his fingers together behind him. Up on his tiptoes, Taichi gazes up at him plaintively. Omi looks perfectly unfazed, at least until Taichi lowers his lids and says, with the beat of his heart sending a pounding rush like a tide through his ribcage, “Actually…I was thinking tonight I’d spoil _you_.”

Taichi feels Omi’s hands light upon his waist in a familiar, precursory kind of way; he marvels at the simplicity of it when he’s not running them both in circles. 

“Taichi,” Omi says, matching his low tone. His breath smells like the sting of fresh mint from his toothpaste and when Taichi kisses him, he finds he tastes like it, too. 

“Is that a yes?” Taichi asks cheekily once he’s drawn back (no, he’s not _breathless_ already, he’s got more composure than that!).

“I’ll do you one better,” Omi says with a light amusement, then leans in and kisses the corner of Taichi’s mouth. He murmurs there at the seam of Taichi’s lips: “ _Please_ spoil me.” 

Taichi stands frozen for a moment, heat crashing over him in a wave, and without even an attempt at properly replying to that he’s yanking Omi over to the couch on his side of the room. Omi’s laugh is quiet and soft, his smiling eyes like a weight on Taichi’s body as he pushes him down to sit. Remembering at the last second with a little _oh!,_ Taichi leaps away, steps over the forgotten, fallen towel, and locks the door.

Then he’s cleared the space between them once more and he’s straddling Omi’s lap, kissing him, both hands on his shoulders to keep himself steady. Omi coils an arm around his waist and Taichi presses in even further, encouraging — flush together, the presence of his arousal can’t be ignored, and neither can Omi’s. The feeling, the _friction_ , sends another ripple of heat through Taichi, and even if he wants to speed through and move their hips together with that eagerness, he reminds himself with the one brain cell he has left: this is him trying to spoil _Omi_ , not himself.

So Taichi keeps it languid, rolling his hips into Omi’s with a secondary kind of feeling to it, more focused on the flat of his tongue sliding against Omi’s, the shocking hint of teeth in his lip and the way he pays it back with a nibble and a suck, staining Omi’s lower lip a kiss-bruised red. Omi sighs against his mouth and Taichi presses into it, licking between the wet warmth of his lips; he slips his hand up higher into the short hair at Omi’s nape, holding there.

Omi still has his arm around Taichi, but then Taichi feels Omi settle his free hand at the curve of Taichi’s neck and shoulder, his thumb pressing into the soft part of Taichi’s collarbone just so. Taichi feels as if he could catch on fire if he gets any hotter, and then Omi breathes his _name_ and Taichi shudders like he’s been shocked stupid.

“Yes!” Taichi gasps, palming at Omi’s chest, squeezing. “ _Wait_ , wait…I wanted to…” Then, before he can think another thought, he’s sliding out from under Omi’s arm and he lands his knees squarely on the floor, kneeling between Omi’s thighs.

Taichi looks up at Omi, taking him in with his eyes for just a second while his fingers curl in at the top of his shorts. Omi’s face is awash with flush, his lips nearly matching Taichi’s hair in vibrance. His gaze is half-glazed, pupils huge, but otherwise he looks lax and patient for whatever it is Taichi wants to do, which is becoming more and more clear with every passing second.

For just a second, the need building in Taichi melts into pleased pride. Then Omi rests his hand in his hair and the need comes right back.

“Yeah,” Taichi breathes, “let me,” and he tugs Omi’s shorts down.

He feels Omi’s fingers dig a little tighter into his hair, but Taichi doesn’t leap into things like usual; no, he begs a little restraint from himself first and leans down to kiss at Omi’s hip, mouth slowly traveling towards the inside of his thigh. Once he’s removed Omi’s shorts, he busies one of his hands with shucking Omi’s shirt a little higher, just enough to see some planes of his skin there, too, the muscles of his stomach… 

It gives Taichi something _really,_ really nice to look at as his eyes fall half-lidded and he takes Omi’s length in a loose grip, tonguing first at the head and over the salty slit, then down, down, lips surrounding him. Omi’s grip turns heavier, drawing a little noise of humming desire out of Taichi, then his grip relaxes until he’s petting through Taichi’s hair with long, coaxing drags of his palm and light tugging near the back of his scalp.

Taichi matches his own up-down, up-down movements to the rhythm of Omi’s hand, rounding his lips and letting spit wet the way of his hand, stroking what he can’t reach with his mouth alone. Omi lets loose a muted groan and Taichi’s eyes open — when had he closed them? — to look at his face, admiring his slack jaw, the long curve of his neck and the little line of tension in his shoulders from holding himself back.

 _Ah,_ Taichi thinks, sudden and desperate. _Am I lucky or what?_

He doubles his efforts then, no more point to staying unhurried in the wake of such sweeping _feelings_ — and even deeper: a need to please, a need to _impress_. Taichi craves Omi’s pleasure and the off-guard appreciation that occasionally comes with it; he wants to feel him come loose and happy, wants to give back the delight that Omi gives him. 

He also wants Omi to tell him he’s done good, very good. He wants Omi to think _really_ hard on this later. A lot. All the time —

The hot weight of Omi’s length in his hold and in his mouth is dizzyingly good, and Taichi hums his approval gently around him, feeling Omi twitch at it. “ _Taichi_ ,” Omi breathes, so soft that Taichi almost doesn’t catch it over the roaring in his ears. Taichi’s eyes flutter closed against the warm thrill that stutters through him at the sound. He sucks him down as far as he can go, his free hand gripping Omi’s thigh like _he’s_ the one getting blown, and then Omi’s fingers tighten extra hard in his hair with another whisper-warning of Taichi’s name.

Omi tries to pull him off of him then, Taichi feels that bright tug at his scalp hard enough that there’s prickles of white behind his lids. Taichi only furrows his brow and keeps his mouth moving along Omi’s length, his lips slick and saliva wet on his chin, jaw aching, until Omi releases Taichi’s hair altogether and slaps his hand over his mouth with a muffled noise.

Taichi swallows him down, throat sticky with the feeling. He doesn’t gag, not even when the back of his throat threatens at it, and instead sits up higher on his knees to take it all properly. When he finally pulls off of Omi he’s panting, wide-eyed and grinning in victory as he sticks out his tongue to show his empty mouth.

Omi stares right back at him, his posture gone all askew and slumped into the couch, chest heaving, his eyes wider than Taichi’s and his face flushed — or at least, what Taichi can see of his face from behind his hand, which is slowly sliding down from its place planted over his mouth.

When no words are forthcoming, Taichi leans forward to take Omi’s wrist and pull his hand down completely, kissing his palm and never once taking his gaze off of Omi’s. “Was that okay?” he asks carefully against Omi’s fingers, though he perks up as Omi seems to resurface from his dreamy state and slides that same hand up into Taichi’s hair to ruffle it.

“That was,” Omi starts, then takes a breath before he laughs airily and finishes instead, “I _do_ feel spoiled. It was good.” 

Taichi settles back down, leaning onto his feet and pressing his cheek against Omi’s thigh with a smile. “Good, good! I’m glad. I had fun, and I wanted _you_ to have fun, so…” 

Omi puffs out an unintelligible noise, leaning forward to scoop Taichi up from under his arms, pulling him upwards into his hold. “It was very, _very_ fun for me,” he promises, and sounds so sincerely like he means it that Taichi can’t help but preen. 

And then Omi’s hand is sliding into his pants and Taichi becomes hopelessly speechless.

“Let me,” Omi echoes his own words against his mouth. Taichi welcomes him to it with open arms, falling back against the couch and tugging him down along with him.


End file.
